


Lily, Lucy

by syringe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Diary/Journal, Hogwarts Era, Horny Teenagers, Infatuation, Lucius Malfoy is a Decent Bloke, M/M, Most of the time, POV Lucius Malfoy, Past Relationship(s), Post-Hogwarts, Responsibilities, Romance, Sad, Schoolboy Crush, Secret Relationship, Smut, Some infidelity, Sort Of, Sweet, Tragedy, Very minor Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, it'll make sense dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syringe/pseuds/syringe
Summary: Harry is doing a final sweep of his late parents' dilapidated home when he finds a safe full of memorable knickknacks that belonged to them. What happens when he stumbles upon a journal detailing his father's illicit, star-crossed romance with a mysterious character named "Lucy"?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (minor), Lucius Malfoy/James Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! :-) this one's a story i've been meaning to write for a while now, but haven't really had the motivation to, due to how unpopular the ship is (^▽^;) in the end, i decided to post it anyway.
> 
> it's the "love story" between james and lucius! (or how i imagined it would go) i have another fic, [Father's Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019106) where i alluded to it, and it surprisingly got a lot of love!! thank you all so much for that! 
> 
> without further ado, here's the story. i hope you like it!

It was in the remains of his parents' former bedroom that Harry found the safe. It was his final visit to the ruins of their home in Godric's Hollow before he would have the place rebuilt for himself. 

It had taken no more than a twist of his wrist on the handle to open the safe. Blood wards, he figured as he watched the iron door creak open. Its blackened, weathered exterior juxtaposed the pristine condition the inside was in: shiny, golden and filled with goods that Harry was overjoyed to see. Finding mementos from his late parents was always a bittersweet but wonderful thing, and he couldn't wait to get a look. 

Sitting down gingerly on the floor littered with dust and debris, he set the safe down and began to rummage through its contents. He found a gold necklace with emerald embellishments that no doubt belonged to his Mum; perhaps she had bought it because it matched the color of her eyes, or maybe his Dad had bought it for her. The idea brought a smile to his face. 

Additionally, the safe contained more jewellery amongst which there was a chunky men's ring with a large oval gemstone set in the centre. It was the sort of thing Malfoy had loved to wear to class on a daily basis, and Harry wondered if his Dad had been _that_ kind of pureblood. There was an ornate quill set that had seemingly never been unboxed and an autographed snitch that Harry marvelled at for a good couple of minutes. And amongst all the precious knickknacks, there was an impressive bundle of papers. 

Shifting to sit more comfortably, he took hold of the pile and began to sift through it. Cooking recipes jotted down in his mother's attractive loopy handwriting and old letters from friends, Gringotts records and cute post-it notes were read and discarded by the smiling young man until he came across two journals: one black and one brown. 

He contemplated not reading them for the sake of privacy, but curiosity won out in the end and he eagerly opened up the black one which turned out to be his Dad's, judging by the spidery 'James F. Potter' written on the front page a dozen times over. Harry wondered what the 'F' stood for, and was saddened to realize that he couldn't make a guess. 

The second page was a loose one, and to his surprise, one that he'd seen before in Snape's pensieve memory. It was the doodle he'd watched his Dad make at the end of his Defense O.W.L, with the snitch, the love heart and the letters... L.E? 

Harry blinked down at the scrap bit of parchment that did not bear his mother's initials. Instead it had her first name, Lily on it along with another he did not recognize: Lucy. 

He raked his brain for any information regarding a woman with such a name. Perhaps in the Order, or part of the teachers' board? No amount of thinking, however, could produce an answer for him, and he desperately hoped she wasn't dead. 

Eager to find out more, he flipped to the first page of the journal and began to read. 

October 22, 1976  
Dragon,

I cannot believe what I've just done. My head is spinning still, whether from the concussion I've suffered at the hands of that blasted oaf Barnaby, or from the deed I've just done, I cannot say. I'll tell you all about it, for I cannot trust anyone else not to take this information straight to my Father. 

Here it comes: I've lost several virginities tonight. Father would have my head on a pike if he found out his only child was taken on the floor of a school bathroom at the hands of the person who did. The worst part is that I don't regret it at all. 

He was skilful, far better than Montague and his third grade handies. He knew how to work his wrist, and his fingers, and he was a real good kisser. I digress, but it was a darn good time. 

I will write more later. For now, I need to go and toss myself off again. I am but a teenager after all. 

Harry read the entry multiple times and only managed to grow more confused with each successive read. It was clear, however, that this was not his father's diary- unless his father had been gay. He doubted it belonged to his mother either, because the handwriting didn't match that of the other diary, and he was sure that one did belong to her as a quick leaf-through of it revealed that each entry was signed with her name. 

Privately, he wondered if this was Lucy's diary, but that lead to an unpleasant chain of thoughts such as, why was it in his father's vault? Regardless, he pressed on, eager to find out for himself who exactly was writing in this journal. 

Dragon,

My apologies for being late. I've just returned from a gruelling evening of socializing with people who hardly deserve my time. But enough about that. Let me tell you what I did today. 

Barnaby, as I mentioned earlier, was beating the lights out of me for no good reason. It was a difficult decision to make, but I figured I'd let him have his fun. So what if I suffered a broken rib or two? Gryffindor would have lost nothing shy of a million points once I was found, and then Father would arrive to chew out the faculty. Perhaps I'd have a month free of homework. 

Unfortunately Potter, too, goes to this school, and we all know it is physically impossible for him to keep his inflated head out of anyone's business. He deemed himself my knight in shining armour and whisked me away to the Prefects' bath for a fix-up. I'll admit I was... out of it at the time, so the details may be fuzzy. 

I am not certain what happened to me between getting my face bashed in, and regaining my consciousness. What I can tell you is that I had woken up with Potter's head in between my knees, ogling me up like he's never seen a pair of legs before. He had healed my wounds sufficiently enough, which was really the only thing that kept me from hexing the life out of him. 

Thinking back, I suppose my greatest error was in asking him what he wanted from me in return. Perhaps getting rejected by the girl you like for the umpteenth time in so many years does wonders for a man's libido. 

I wouldn't want to turn you into one of mother's bodice-rippers so I'll keep the details brief. One moment found us kissing, and in the next, we were nude on the floor. Never before have I been in so undignified of a position, but I'll admit that it was the most erotic experience of my life. No woman's heat could compare to the feeling of being sucked by James Potter's lips and no man's hands have rivalled the sensation of his deft fingers opening me up like... a common whore. Yes, that was how it felt in that bathroom, with the dirty water on the floor seeping into my hair and Potter's fingers inside of me. 

That will be as much as I am willing to record, Dragon, lest someone find you and put two and two together. Until next time. 

Harry skimmed through the entry the first time, too embarrassed to read about the dirty details. Curiosity won in the end, however, and he found himself blushing through the very explicit record of his father's past rendezvous. He considered ditching his plan entirely, Lucy or Lily, who cares? They were gone, and that was the end of that. 

But he did care, and if Lucy, or who ever was writing to Dragon was still alive, he'd finally have someone to tell him about his mum and dad. /Really/ tell him. 

So he continued to the next page. 

October 31, 1976  
Dragon,

James Potter is brilliant. I suppose you would like to know about how my Halloween went, Dragon, and I'll tell you. I was in costume, dressed as a Prince. I won't be disclosing which one, for I have fear of being discovered, but I'll tell you that Mother sent me my robes in the post. They're real. 

I danced with my betrothed, who looked very beautiful as well- but you and I both know who I really want to talk about. 

Potter came dressed as some eccentric Muggle personality. I would tell you how much of a disgrace he is to purebloods across the world, but his outfit showed more skin than fabric and for that, I'll have to thank the Muggles just this once. 

I danced with my betrothed with fantasies of Potter plaguing my mind, watched him fail miserably at courting his red-headed crush and caught him spiking our punch with firewhiskey. 

The important part happened later, after most of us were tipsy and giggling. I am no lightweight, and neither is Potter. As you may have guessed, this was the perfect opportunity to escape from the horde of drunken teenagers and indulge ourselves in each other. I would have liked to continue our conquest in the bathroom like last time, but it seemed that Potter had something else in mind. I'd rather die than let him know that I actually enjoyed our episode of debauchery in a filthy place like that. 

I'll just tell you: he took me to a broom cupboard near Filch's quarters. A rather predictable place to snog, but you know I've never done anything in a place that wasn't a bedroom, or an empty classroom at the worst. The cupboard was amazingly cramped and smelled strongly of cleaning agents. I suspect the brooms there are what Filch uses to mop the floors. It, simply spoken, sucked. But for my newly discovered poverty-kink, it was no less than a dream. 

Again, I'll skip the details: Potter undid my hair, then my robes. Suddenly it was me standing bare with him, who might as well be nude for all he was wearing. My ancestors' priceless garb turned into nothing more than a bit of cloth discarded in a fit of passion. And passion there was; for he kissed me, and touched me in the dark, and Dragon, I mean it when I tell you I've never been more aroused in my life. 

I debated writing this part down, but I'll tell you anyway: I sucked him, and eagerly at that. He had me on my knees before him, his hands holding my hair back and his cock deep in my throat.  And I liked it!  He had my head held upright like a babe, but he fucked my mouth like I imagine he would fuck me, pardon my language.

By the time I had unlatched myself from his person and walked back to my room, it was very late at night. I'll never tell this to another soul, Dragon, but if I were ever to be buggered by a man, it would be James Potter. 

Harry skipped a handful of pages to read some more. His face was practically a ball of fire now, and he really hoped this person would quit calling his dad 'Potter' like that. It reminded him of the way Malfoy spoke to him more than he was comfortable with, and with Lucy's identity remaining a mystery, Harry found himself accidentally picturing Malfoy in her spot, fucking his dad. 

His lack of knowledge about his own father's characteristics led to him picturing himself and Malfoy in those situations more often than not, and that was a whole other can of worms Harry did /not/ want to open. 

November 7, 1976  
Dragon,

Father would have murdered me long ago if he knew how poorly I have been faring in some of my classes. Just you wait, once I've worked my way up onto the Educational Board of Governors, I'll have the goblin wars of 1458 wiped clean off of the curriculum. 

Aside from my natural aversion towards History of Magic, there is of course, Potter. I know you must think me obsessed, writing of him every time i pick up a quill and open your pages- but the boy is a wonder in his own right. I've shared kisses with girls, like Marlene and Priscilla and Lativia, and they had been delightful. Warm and pretty and lovely. They had tasted of candy and sunshine, their strawberry chap-stick sugary sweet on my lips. You know this. 

You are also aware that I've kissed boys. They were often filled with fire. Sparks and flames and lava and fireworks from Parker, Bass, Clermont, Butanny. They had kept me on my toes, had me pulling on their hair and grinding my knee into their groins, hungry for the noises that would escape past their lips. 

But nobody has ever made me feel the way Potter seems to do so effortlessly; to lose control so completely that seldom else seems to matter. His hair feels like velvet under my fingers, the sort you could not stop running your hands through if your life depended on it, back and forth and back again till he looks like the mess he's made of me. 

His tongue tastes like riches, but not the sort that money can buy, and his kisses taste like summer hols, like dipping your ankles in cool water and listening to the cicadas chirrup in the back garden and realizing you're falling, falling in love. 

Potter whisked me off to the lake shore this afternoon during lunch. I've no clue how he's managed to keep his idiot friends at bay for as long as he has, but I am grateful for his efforts. We lay on our backs in the muddy grass next to the lake and did little else. I saw the telltale flicker of lights under the green-blue water and told him it came from the windows in our dormitory. 

We watched the clouds drift by like great big wads of cotton on an expanse of azure blue and tried to find shapes in them. Potter said something funny here, something about Hagrid, that silly old fool, and his great big underpants. Thinking back, I don't suppose it was all that hilarious, but in that moment, lying with James on damp grass that would surely leave foul green marks on my shirt and make my hair smell like a pasture for hours, it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. 

Things took a turn here, Dragon, and you could close your eyes for this part, if you'd like. One moment we were bent double, clutching our stomachs and giggling like schoolchildren. In the next, I was straddling him, our lips locked and moving fervently together. I had made the first move; it was draughty on the shore today, and he was so close, his bellowing laughter so infectious and the little scrunch of his nose affecting me in ways that I'd rather not say. I wanted a taste of that warmth, that summer holiday feeling I get when I kiss him, for it was too cold to shed my socks and the water too frigid to soak my toes in. 

An eggshell cracked over my head whilst I was ravaging him, a clear indicator of a disillusionment charm- ever the quick thinker, Potter. We rubbed one off on each other, the delicious friction of my groin on his making me forget all about the squelching of loose dirt under my knees. 

I wound up going to class fifteen minutes late, my clothes filthy, my hair a tangled mess and my underpants sticky from release. Professor McGonagall was far from pleased with me, but the taste of Potter's tongue still lingered on mine, Italian summers and red wine, and I managed to turn my turtle into a teacup and back again with little fuss. 

November 16, 1976  
Dragon,

I come bearing bad news. For some awful reason, fate has now, after years of grovelling, allowed Potter to become friends with his beloved redhead Evans. What I have done to deserve this horrible bout of bad luck, I do not know. The most I can do about it is hope that he does not leave me for her in the event that they warm up to each other a bit too much. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit. 

Regardless, Dragon, allow me to tell you about something other than Potter for once. There has been an exponential rise in followers of Lord Voldemort in this school. They go by the silly name of "Death-Eaters". Why would anyone want to address himself as that?

Ordinarily I would be concerned about the sheer number of students here who wish to eradicate this world of mudbloods and the like. But I am not ordinary, I am a pureblooded wizard, as are my family and my lover. I have nothing to worry about. 

This may be a rather morbid note to end on- and I would like it if Potter does not find out- but if the Death-Eaters do end up driving all the mudbloods out of Hogwarts, I hope Lily Evans is first. 

The entry left a sour taste in Harry's mouth, and he quickly moved to the next, wondering why on earth his father had been involved with a man like this. At least he was was step closer to finding out who it was: a man, but not a Death Eater. Definitely not a good person. He supposed his dad hadn't liked him all that much anyway, since his name was not on the paper unlike his mum's and Lucy's. 

_But why do you have his journal, tucked away carefully in a safe so many years after your death?_

He skipped ahead. 

November 29, 1976  
Dragon,

James Potter is a bastard. 

I cannot truly say that I am surprised; we have never discussed a set of regulations for this ~~relationship~~ situation of ours. In fact, you and I are both well aware that we never discussed much of anything at all- too busy were our mouths, swallowing cock. Forgive me for being so crude. I had assumed it were common courtesy not to go around shagging the entire population of Vatican City whilst you are already getting off with someone nearly every single day. 

I shall be straightforward with you, Dragon, tonight I stumbled upon my paramour half-naked behind a tapestry with some tramp I've never seen before. I am loathe to be so transparent, but the moment I saw them there, like that, my heart shattered. 

Funny isn't it, how I would not have given a hippogriff's stool if one of my past conquests had taken one, or one hundred lovers on the side, but now that it's come to Potter, I long to do nothing but weep in my bed until Christmas arrives? This is the weakest I have ever felt, and I owe it all to him. 

You should have seen his face when I caught them. He turned to gape at me like a deer in the headlights while the girl in his arms shrieked like a banshee. It was easily the worst moment of my life

Harry turned the page, feeling divided. He still disliked this character for saying what he had about his mum, but his dad was being a dick. He remembered Remus telling him he'd only started behaving better in seventh year, and this journal was from sixth. The next entry was written a week later, and only consisted of the words 'I hate James Potter'. He turned another page. 

December 15, 1976  
Dragon,

I am writing from a stuffy back compartment on the Hogwarts Express. I suppose it was only my own fault that I woke up so dreadfully late this morning. Pardon my quivering hand, for this third-grade vehicle is always shaking something frightful.

The Christmas hols have begun and I am looking forward to seeing my parents little more than I am eager to have a whole bath room all to myself again. I'll certainly need a steamy soak after I've had to face Potter's ugly mug again. 

That's right, Potter had the audacity to stand before me and blubber like the idiot he is. Fortunately, we are currently in a very public area and that spared me the trouble of actually having to speak with him.

I cannot leave this dump of a compartment for fear of him cornering me into the loo and attempting to speak with me there. There is no proper place to stow my trunk and the seat rattles as loud as an avalanche. I wish those of us who are more fortunate than others could take a limo home from Hogsmeade, but I've been told time and time again that we can't. 

This must stay between you and I, Dragon, but I do miss him. I wish he hadn't been such a pig and I wish I'd been raised with less pride, that I could be more forgiving. Perhaps then, the fantasies my traitorous mind has been conjuring up all afternoon could come true. 

Perhaps we would have been here in this compartment together, would have spelled the door shut and laid atop one another on this poor excuse for a seat. I can barely fit my arse on it myself but I know that Potter is miles better at Transfiguration than I; he could have figured something out. 

We would have been kissing, kissing with a desperate, fervent sort of intensity. An urgency, heat and light and starfire. Because I missed him, I miss him and in a perfect world where we were pressed against eachother, skin on naked skin and this bloody fucking seat vibrating under our backs, he would miss me too. 

December 23, 1976  
Dragon,

It's been a while since I wrote to you last. Christmas hols started ages ago, and Cissy is staying with us at the Manor as Father thinks that we should spend more time together. We are friends, but I would rather be alone this winter; of course, I cannot tell that to Father, for I am neither brave nor stupid. 

Speaking of braveness and stupidity, I suppose you can already guess who visited me in my bedroom last night. He rode a flying motorcycle up, if you could believe that! 

Nevertheless, I had been furious. I seethed, hissed horrible things at him about himself and his friends, and contemplated pushing him off the balcony to his imminent death. You should know that I tried, too, but Potter was nothing if not persistent. He told me he came to apologize to me, and did convincing work of looking like a kicked puppy. 

I did not believe him for a second, but I allowed him a seat and a drink of hot cocoa, for as a Malfoy I would be loathe to offer a guest anything but hospitality. To you, Dragon, I can admit that all that was mostly an excuse, and the core issue was that I had missed him. I missed his warmth, his aura and his touch, I missed him like a lover. 

I touched myself to fantasies of him each and every night, when my heart swelled with pathetic longing and thoughts of the most wishful sort. My mind has been plagued all winter with garbled memories of browned hands on my ribs and stubble burn scraping my jaw, the scent of chamomile and polish assailing my nostrils and summer flavoured kisses on frigid November evenings. 

We grew drunk on cocoa-milk, or perhaps I did, although I hadn't drunk anything at all. I was drunk on Potter, and I know it may sound silly when I put it like that but if you had seen me last night, still angry, still upset, but straddling James Potter and snogging him as if my life depended on it, you'd find that it is the truth. 

It was our first time using a bed, but everything else was the same as always. I had assumed sex with Potter would be boring without the usual elements of a quick, dirty shag, but the idea of my Father coming in and catching us at it kept the adrenaline running. 

Ordinarily, the implications of my Father walking in on me getting my arse eaten out by a non-betrothed under his roof would be terrifying. Trust Potter's involvement to make it feel like a turn-on. I've never been this hard before. 

In the privacy of your pages, Dragon, I can admit that I had missed him much more than I had let on. I watched him leave in the morning, but his presence lingered throughout the day. 

I've never felt this way before. 

December 25, 1976  
Dragon,

I slept with James Potter. Now, you may be thinking, 'Lucy, you have been sleeping with him. You've done it tens of dozens of times', and you are correct, but only partially. 

Last night on Christmas Eve, he buggered me proper until all I could see was stars. He fucked my arse the way he fucks my mouth, a hand fisted in my hair and his lips spilling profanity that is beginning to grow on me, I'll have to admit. Jamie, you are such a bad influence. 

Alas, it was my first time either way. I do not know if he has ever had sex like this before, nor do I know how many women he has been with- but as a man, I take pride in being his very first in both departments. 

I laid on my back and he leant over me, kissing me with his lips, his tongue and his hands. I shall tell you once again, Dragon, that I have no intention of turning you into a bodice-ripper. However, last night was special to me, and I would be loathe to have forgotten the details. 

Jamie calls me by the name of 'Lucy', which is not my true name, but a rather plebian abbreviation of it. Perhaps it offers him some semblance of normalcy if he cries out the syllables of a woman's name instead of a man's when he reaches his orgasm. Let it be known, however, that the one who's heat he's buried himself inside of is not Lily Evans or his fabricated Lucy- but Lucius Malfoy. And he had the time of his life while doing it, too. 

Harry gaped at the last entry, re-read it, and gaped some more. Surely there had to be a mistake there. His mind was playing tricks on him after a solid hour of unintentionally picturing himself and Malfoy fucking in bathrooms and broom closets. 

Anything would do as long as his father wasn't _actually_ having sexual relations with Lucius Malfoy. A man who's tried to kill him. It just couldn't be true. 

But there it was, on the very next page, a moving photograph. Harry tried not to look at it, he did, but curiosity won in the end and he picked it up and peered at the faces on it. 

If he hadn't known any better, he would have said this was a picture of himself and Draco Malfoy, but with some details deliberately flawed: such as James' eyes being the wrong colour and Lucius' hair reaching much farther down his neck, than his son's. 

Another was the fact that they were vigorously making out, and Harry didn't suppose he and Draco would be in that position in the foreseeable future. 

The loop started tame enough, with Lucius peering closely into the camera lens with a look of obvious confusion. While Harry had only ever seen his late father in a scarce handful of photos, he saw Lucius Malfoy at least twice every year. It was strange to see the man look so young; for although he had no wrinkles in the present day, there was this permanent icy chill over his features that aged him years. 

Here, though, Lucius looked exactly how he should: like a wide eyed young boy with a crush and a diary, dreams of romance in his mind and a lover at his side. His lips moved wordlessly until James nudged him in the ribs with his elbow and made a camera-like gesture with his hands. 

Lucius scrambled to position the lens in front of their faces and tried to pose for the photo. At the same time, James reached around to cup the far side of his head in a gentle palm and turn his face towards him before mashing their lips together. He smiled against his lips while Lucius struggled to get his free arm around his neck.

It was still strange, and more than a little gross to look at, but Harry smiled at the couple in the photo. 

December 26, 1976  
Dragon,

It is the morning after Christmas. Last night's party went marvellously. The elves prepared my favourite, Peking duck, and Cissy was finally taken home by her family. Although there is something decidedly naughty about taking someone else's cock while your betrothed is sleeping just a few doors down. I will miss that. 

Last night I was once again visited by Jamie. Can you imagine my embarrassment when he showed me the handful of presents he brought for me? I had nothing to offer to him for the longest while. Fortunately, I pride myself in being a quick thinker, and was able to give him the perfect gift. 

He presented me with an instant camera that will never run out of film. We used it to click plenty of photographs, but I will only be storing one of them in your pages as the rest were not so innocent. 

As I've mentioned earlier, I was forced into making a quick decision hence, I gave him my favourite signet ring as a parting gift. I wonder if he's wearing it now, waking up in his bed with my initials on his finger. I think of his hazel eyes, pink lips and tousled hair. He's sweet and spicy and I feel like I'm kissing him, all the time now. 

I might be falling for him, Dragon. Is that not ludicrous?

Harry put the journal down on that note, and rummaged around in the safe for the ring he'd seen earlier. Upon finding it, he held it up close to his face for inspection. True to his suspicions, it had the letters _L.M_ written on its platinum interior. 

He sighed and put it back. The journal ended there, and he assumed that Lucius Malfoy himself had the continuation with him. All that was left was one more photograph, taken from afar. It featured Lucius with his platinum hair cascading down his back. He was sitting by the Lake with his trousers cuffed and his feet dipped in the water. Aside from that, the remaining few pages were all left curiously blank, except for one. 

__

I'm sorry for everything, Jamie. I love you. -Lucy

Although, what surprised Harry was not the man's declaration of love, but the answering message scrawled in a drastically different hand. 

__

I know. I love you too  
so much

Harry stared at the words for a long, long while and wondered. He had more than a few questions about what happened next. If his father and Lucius were so in love with each other, why did his parents marry? Why did Lucius join the Death Eaters if he thought they were so stupid? What _happened_? He was a man of action though, and thus he set out to find the answers himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what do you think? please do leave a comment and let me know if you liked it! i'll love you forever! ♡♡♡ my twitter is @dracominnie, if you'd like to be friends! ₊*̥(* ⁰̷̴͈o⁰̷̴͈)‧˚
> 
>   
> others by me:
> 
> [Foreshadowing (I Really Should Have Seen That Coming) (2.8K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764577)
> 
> [Father's Eyes (4K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019106)
> 
> [I've Encountered Something I cannot Deny (16K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663806)


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the second part of this story! my original intent was to leave it here but i might make a third part depending on how this goes down :O

Lucius was in his study with a pipe between his fingers and his feet kicked up on the ottoman. It was one of those afternoons, when the sky was white and grey and the weather was unremarkable. Depressing. There was something inexplicably melancholy about this sort of summer afternoon, for the heat was present but the sunlight was not. As an adult, summertime held little meaning anymore, now that there was no such thing as holidays to embellish its arrival. 

Not even Cissy's prized botanical garden could brighten up the landscape with its carefully selected colour scheme. He watched her standing there by the flowers, her tiny blond head bobbing in the distance while she supervised four nimble elves in installing her newst peony plant. This one was periwinkle blue. 

Draco was down by the pool practising his breaststroke as his newest obsession entailed mastering the move in order for him to be able to qualify for Barclay's Bi-Annual Liquid Quidditch Tournament. The boy was relentless when he put his mind to something. Lucius suspected today would come to mark the fourteenth time he and Cissy would have to drag the boy out of the pool, only to have him attend dinner dripping wet and smelling of chlorine. 

Hence, here he was, surrounded by centuries old tomes covered in dust with nothing but an oppressive silence and his thoughts for company. He inhaled the fragrant smoke into his lungs, trying his best not to pay heed to them. 

A muffled crack outside his door pulled Lucius out of the haze, and he turned his head in its direction in acknowledgement. It creaked open to allow Bitsy, their smallest house elf, to pop her head into the study. 

"Lord Malfoy is having a visitor," she informed him giddily, "Oh-! It is being Mister Harry Potter, Sir!"

He raised an eyebrow at this. "Are you certain he is here to see me? Surely you've made a mistake." Or the young Potter had, because what business could that boy possibly have had at the Manor? As far as Lucius knew, he was far from friendly with his son Draco, and it was unlikely that he himself had found a place to fit into Potter's good books either. 

"No, my Lord. He is being standing in the entry way, and he is asking for you, Sir."

Frowning, he set his pipe aside and dismissed the elf. He got to his feet and brushed off his robes before padding over to the door of his study that remained slightly ajar after Bitsy's departure. The carpet was soft under his slippers and the door did not creak as he pushed it open, thus he crept out in absolute silence into the empty hallway. 

He was in the midst of recounting every single unjust deed he might have done to warrant a Potter Patrol when he finally reached the grandiose flight of stairs that curved into the entrance hall. The balustrade was smooth under his palm where he curled his hand around it, but its flawless ivory cast did little to distract Lucius from the scene that awaited him at the foot of the staircase. 

His son and Potter stood facing each other, seemingly engaged in a conversation. Draco's back was to him, but he could clearly see his wet hair and bare feet. He had thrown on a black bathrobe with ostentatious embroideries of his own initials on the back and chest, and he was no doubt wearing nothing but his swimming shorts underneath. Gods, his son was turning into a lout. 

He allowed himself to observe the scene for a few more seconds wherein he discovered a carton of orange juice clutched in Draco's hand and the steady pinkening of the back of his neck before he decided to make his presence known. 

"I was under the impression that you had come to see me, Mr. Potter," he drawled, and watched with satisfaction as both boys whipped round to face him. Draco was, indeed, half nude underneath his open robe. Good Lord, "or is it my son that you've taken a liking to, instead?"

At this, Draco's cheeks flushed blossom pink, and Potter cleared his throat uncomfortably. Lucius let his gaze linger on his son's bashful face in silent askance because, really? Potter?

What Malfoy would ever fancy himself infatuated with a Potter? 

"No, no. I really do need to talk to you," Potter said, and raised a weathered black book up to eye level, "There's something you need to see."

Lucius' complete lack of recognition upon seeing the journal annoyed Harry, but he refused to back down just yet. He followed the two blonds down a long marble corridor to a lavish setting room decorated in white and gold tones with high windows that were just a bit useless on a drab day like this. 

Gingerly, he seated himself on a far too new looking sofa while Lucius sat in an armchair across from him. Draco had to conjure himself a chair because he was still soaking wet- Harry had no idea what that was all about. Draco cleared his throat while he sat back in his seat, somehow managing to look simultaneously very relaxed and very stuffy. He took a gulp of juice straight from the carton, Lucius shooting him a wary glance as he did. Harry had to stiffle a snicker; he had never seen Draco Malfoy act so normal before. 

"So, Potter," Lucius said, "what is this elusive book you've been meaning to show me?"

"It's yours," Harry said, not wanting to beat around the bush, "Your schoolboy journal, to be exact. I found it in my Dad's vault along with a couple of other valuables and I was wondering if you could tell me more about it." He avoided mentioning his Mum altogether, in case the man was still carried bitter feelings about them getting married to each other. 

Looking at Lucius Malfoy dead in the eye was unsettling. The man's face seemed to be carved completely out of stone, what with its very minimal ability of creating facial expressions, and now that he was doing nothing but staring at Harry, it was exponentially worse than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco starting to show newfound interest in the conversation before him. 

"I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Lucius said finally.

"What!" Harry cried, exasperated, "I've already read the whole thing cover to cover so don't bother trying to hide it."

Draco had kicked his legs up onto a spare ottoman and he gazed thoughtfully at his father whose expression had not changed in the slightest. 

"I am being completely honest with you for once, Potter," he said cooly, a heavily jewelled hand coming up to stroke absently at the long blond hair that fell over his shoulder in a fine sheet, "I've no clue of this journal or how it came into your possession. Or your Father's, for that matter. In fact, I've never written a single diary or journal in all fourty-one years of my waking life."

Harry's stomach sank, and he could only gape at the older man who stared steadily back. "You're having me on," Harry deadpanned, "You're having me on! Draco, is this true?"

The aforementioned blond started and whipped around to face Harry, looking a bit embarrassed. "I don't know," he said almost shyly. "Dad, are you very sure?" he added, addressing Lucius now. The easy domesticity of the title surprised Harry more than just a bit, and he wondered if he'd always misjudged the Malfoy family so extremely, or if it was just a side effect of hours upon hours of reading about a boy who would not refer to his parents as anything but Father and Mother. 

"I'm positive, Dragon," Lucius said, "I never spoke with James Potter or his tribe of, pardon me, ruffian friends. The eldest Weasley brother, Barnaby had a nasty habit of terrorizing my peers and I to the point where I could hardly stand him and his band of foolish Gryffindors, let alone speak with them."

"There it is!" Potter cried out, like the hooligan he was, causing Draco to jump, "That! You started every entry with 'dragon', and in the first one, you wrote about some bloke named Barnaby beating the shite out of you before my Dad saved you and dragged you into a..." he paused to cough, "... bathroom."

Lucius felt his cheeks heat as both young boys stared at him inquiringly. He remembered, very clearly in fact, the handful of illustrious times that that horrendous ginger oaf Barnaby had tried his hand at breaking every limb on his rather frail teenaged body. It had been extremely embarrassing, and he thought he'd done an acceptable job of sneaking very carefully down to the Hospital Wing to get his wounds treated. 

"That may be correct," he said uncomfortably, "but I took care of myself. There was no such incident involving that idi-... your father and I, and what did you say? A loo?"

At this, Potter looked ready to pull every last ridiculous strand of hair out of his scalp. "Jesus!" he cried unintelligibly, "You're making no sense! Every bloody entry I went through, your ring in his vault, your name on his doodles and the- fucking- pictures! You're trying to tell me it's all fake? Someone's having me on? I came all the way over here to _your_ house with all these questions because I want to know _why_ , but all you've been giving me is more questions!" He was panting heavily by the time he'd reached the end of his little tantrum, the evidence of his outburst echoing back down from the high ceiling and spacious walls of the room. Draco eyed the boy cautiously, frozen in his spot with the carton of juice still clutched in his hand. 

"Why, _what_ Potter?" Lucius asked, levelling him with a steady glare, "Don't exhaust yourself when you already know exactly how bad your luck has been in the past when it came to _diaries_."

"Why he cheated on my Mum with a fucking arsehole like you!" he shouted, and the room fell silent. Lucius blinked at the boy, who really did look a lot like his father, and blinked some more in disbelief. Surely, he must have misheard that. 

"...What?" 

This was said by Draco who, when he turned to face him, looked to be pale in the face but not nearly as shell-shocked as Lucius felt after hearing Potter's mad declaration. His son's lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes, so much like his own, were wide like saucers and filled with astonished recognition. 

"It was you?" he asked weakly. 

"What was him?" Potter asked eagerly in return, his body automatically coming to lean forward in his seat.

"The... diary I found in the library," Draco said, and it was as if his words were travelling lethargically slow through a thick sheet of honey before making their way to Lucius's ears, "I only read a page or two because I felt it was far too sappy for me... I thought it had belonged to Mummy and she was so embarrassed that she hid it away," he shook his head in wonder, "Thought she had an irrational crush the size of Belgium on Potter's dead father. But it was you all along!"

 _No it wasn't_!

Lucius was surprised at the intensity of the thought. Something was shouting at him from the very core of his brain to deny the claim, and to do so as viciously as he could, regardless of the fact that the offender was his own beloved son. 

"That's the one!" Potter cheered, "The gig is up, Malfoy, we know all about your dirty little secret and it's about time that you 'fessed up."

He tossed the journal to Lucius, the dainty little thing barrelling through the air faster than it ought to and coming closer and closer with every passing second. 

_It's just a book. Why am I so afraid of it?_

That was his last coherent thought before the leather came in contact with his skin, and the world turned white. 

The scream that ripped through Lucius' throat could curdle blood. The man's muscles seized up and he curled in on himself, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his screaming relentless. It was horrifying to look at, but Harry could not bring himself to look away. 

"DAD!" Draco shouted, shooting up to his feet in a split second and scrambling to get to his father's side. He cupped the older man's tense, shrieking face in two gentle palms and called to him, "What's happening to you? Dad? Daddy?"

He cradled the blond head close to his robed chest before turning accusatory eyes on Harry, who was shocked still. His strorm-grey eyes were dark with loathing, a hateful little sneer twisting across his rose pink lips. 

"What have you done to him?" he yelled, raising his voice louder than Harry had assumed he was capable of, in order to be audible over Lucius' screeching. "What the hell have you done to him!?"

He snapped out of his frozen state after what seemed to be an eternity. He took a few cautious steps closer to the two Malfoys, Draco's eyes following him the whole time. 

"I haven't done a thing," he said, just loudly enough to be heard, "I swear to you, I don't know-"

"If anything happens to my Father, Potter," he snarled, "I'll fucking kill you."

All of a sudden, the screaming stopped. Lucius' head lolled limp and heavy between his shoulders. On some silent agreement, Harry and Draco worked together to help him sit back up. 

"Are you alright, Dad?" Draco asked him again, cupping one side of his face with his hand. 

The older man raised two cloudy grey eyes to look at his son. Harry felt a shiver rake through his body at the look on his face, saturated with emotion. It was unnatural, compared to his normal state, and he felt as if he was looking at something forbidden. 

"I killed him," he said to Draco, his voice coming out in a helpless, shuddering tremor. His face crumpled and he looked away, "I killed him."

"Who?" Draco implored quietly, glancing briefly in Harry's direction before shaking his head, "Never mind that. Let's get you someplace more comfortable."

Lucius Malfoy had, in fact, killed many people. Harry remembered the cold detachment on his face when he watched Cedric Diggory fall dead, remembered how he'd ruthlessly handed Riddle's cursed diary to an eleven year old Ginny.

But now the man was shivering, wide eyed and slumped over in his son's embrace. His lower lip trembled. His eyes were moist and unblinking. His hands trembled. "I killed him."

"Who?" Harry asked. Draco shot him a look that could mean many things, none of which were pleasant. But when Lucius raised his eyes to look into his own, something seemed to finally click in his brain. 

"Jamie," he said to Harry, "James Potter. I killed James Potter."

Draco seemed flustered for a bit, but he was good at keeping his composure in difficult situations, if nothing else. "No, you didn't. The Dark Lord did."

"Voldemort," Harry said automatically. Neither of the men flinched, but Lucius denied his son's statement vehemently. 

"No. No, no, no, it was me. If I hadn't, If I didn't- It wouldn't have happened. It-"

"You didn't kill him!" Draco shouted, growing frantic. He grappled around for Lucius' diary and tossed it back to Harry, cheeks pink and eyes hard. 

"Get out of my house," he hissed.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," Lucius gasped. Harry stepped back with the journal in his hands. The photograph of their fathers together stuck out from between the pages, having come loose in the struggle. 

"He forgave you, you know," he told Lucius, not looking away from the photo. Draco whipped round to glare at him again. "Potter, _shut up_ and fuck off," he gritted out, but his father seemed to disagree. 

"He did?" Lucius asked, hopeful. 

"He said it's okay," Harry told him, and handed him back his diary, turned to the final page, "and that he feels the same way."

"Felt," the older man corrected quietly, his eyes roaming over the page almost hungrily. 

"Feels," Harry reinstated, "my parents' love for me didn't die with them. Who's to say it died for you?"

Lucius traced the words on the page with his fingertips, his eyes and the teardrops that finally fell from them. Seeing Malfoy Sr. cry, Harry felt the same way he did when he'd seen Draco do the same, what seemed like a thousand years ago in a dirty abandoned bathroom. Awkward. Uncomfortable. 

The older man took a photograph in his hand. It was the one where he was sitting alone by the lake. 

"I didn't know he took this," he said quietly. Draco tightened his hold around him in reassurance. 

"It's alright," he told him, "You don't need to explain anything right now."

Harry would rather he did, but he knew better than to voice his thoughts aloud. He sat with the Malfoys on their sofa, silent and patient while Lucius gazed into the photographic eyes of his late paramour, deep in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it! if i do make a third part, it will be in journal form as well, because i feel like this story reads better that way. it'll go into depth as to what exactly happened here rather than keeping it a mystery for my milking purposes, haha. thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡♡
> 
> others by me:
> 
> [Foreshadowing (I Really Should Have Seen That Coming) (2.8K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764577)
> 
> [Father's Eyes (4K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019106)
> 
> [I've Encountered Something I cannot Deny (16K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663806)


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